Heart of Malachite
by Gabubu
Summary: Feelings, thoughts, blunders, adventures, struggles and triumphs of everyone's favorite nonmetalbending earthbender: Bolin. Peppered with Borra. "Noodles": "It was salty and a peculiar grainy-looking cloud moved in the bowl with every slurp." Noodlery childhood shenanigans.
1. 2 AM (onesided Borra)

**Note: This fic shall contain Bolin. Bolin everywhere. Some happy, some sad, some depressing, some funny, some romance. Bolin-centric oneshots, scribbles, maybe even poems. Why? Because Bolin is amazing and doesn't get enough fics on here. (that *aren't* Broh/Makolin)And that makes me sadbend. In an attempt to write more and for more Bolin to exist on this website, I give you "Malachite". Google search "malachite shimmerlings" for some background. No chapter will rise above a T rating, so the overall rating of this entire thing is "T". Each chapter will have warnings as applicable. Each chapter will contain genres. My goal is a weekly update for now. Each chapter will be titled by whatever prompted it. I'll google fanfic prompts/hit "shuffle" on my iPod/take prompts from fellow Bolin-fans, or make something up out of thin air. Wish me luck; I hope to do Bolin justice.  
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**Chapter contains explicit references to alcohol and may affect your feels. Angst/Family. implicit!Mentions of Makorra/Borra, brotherly Mako/Bolin.  
**

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**2 AM**

Lacking light, the thin-walled apartment echoed the light snores of the sleeping firebender. Faintly, outlines of two messy beds and a series of storage crates stacked atop one another, personal effects, food, and the necessities of life lingering lightly. Impressive windows ajar, a light summer breeze wafted and calmed the ravaged mindset of the burly earth-manipulator– if only briefly. His normally solid and steady feelings and insides in chaotic, painful turmoil.

Not a sound escaped the bender's face, not a whimper. His eyes were dry, long drained of their plentiful reserves. Tepid blood long cleansed of the inhibiting effects of multiple alcoholic drinks. The night– morning– prior, the stretch of time between the two– the jade eyed probender sunk into vats of putrid strong beverage, each cup driving him to clear murkiness. Eventually, each sip and chug and swallow thicker, more difficult. Drinking alone. Well into the rays of dawn, long past Yue's time: the earthbender wallowed. Heartbreak overshadowed by an acute sense of betrayal–

There was one family member, one brother, one caretaker, one friend– _best_ friend. A solitary companion through life's hurdles.

There was only one Mako.

Fledgling romances useless and paltry. No matter her allure. No matter those captivating expressions flitting across a well-carved, exquisitely sunkissed face, her toned form, relaxed mannerisms, painfully _perfect, ideal _compatibilities and calm, easy chemistry. The beating in his heart– uncharacteristic– upon the first meeting: unimportant and excessive. The immediate interest–

Running a sticky hand, ruffling and messing the mop of wavy hair atop his crown, the earthbender paused, face contorted. The inadvertent clash of romantic and familial love: cruel. The unfortunate melding of the two in a tryst stumbled upon– pure sadistic torture. Lightly creaking against the floorboards, solid feet waltzed to the empty bed. A strained smile graced his countenance. His brother's sternness at extracting him from a post-bar meal at Narook's Noodlery the moon before entering his memories afresh. A week of soul and bottle-searching followed, and an answer found. Inside bottles and bottles, multitudes of fiery liquids, throughout sleepless nights and sunrises, the muscled boy found his answer.

And so, tears driven to extinction– sobs expelled permanently– the brother stared into space: the soft snores of his only brother, friend, companion soothing his ears. Soon– someday: he may find an alluring individual once again. A strong, compatible one. For there was only one– count it, _one_– Mako.

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**Because I'm overly affected by that long-resolved triangle in regards to Bolin. And this was pretty much Bros b4 Hos in fancy language. It's a good start, no? Reviews make my day.  
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	2. Sky

**I'm using my love for Bolin to hide from things I should be writing. I present you with my personal fanon about what Bolin did as Mako struggled to keep them both alive, well, and fed. Bolin is older than 6 but younger than 10 here.  
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**Chapter may affect feels. This is a Hurt/Comfort, loosely. More General/Sad than anything else.  
**

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**Sky**

Subdued, the stabs of the grand, massive buildings kept the eternal expanse above at bay. Below it, a small boy silently stared at it, bright green eyes round disks. Clad in well-worn smudged rags, the boy uncomfortably sat against a rough wall. He was alone. And he feared the sky. It ended somewhere the boy didn't understand, if it ended at all. It began everywhere. Or nowhere. It changed colors, dancing across black to blue to gray to speckled pink and orange, to blue, sometimes dotted in a white puffiness. Sometimes it became dark while it was bright: dooming, malicious clouds possessing their airy counterparts. His lips trembled in those times, tears threatening to flee down his small round face– hand itching to grasp a warm, comforting hand. But alone he waited.

Sounds erupted everywhere: silence loud at the sky's darkest moments, shifting to smoke, laughter, voices, screeches, clatters, and unidentifiable notes as the sky became more active, shifting and shifting as the sun skimmed across. He often hid from the sky. The surrounding mountains; the cold, gray buildings; or sticky hands offered a temporary shield from the sky's stare. But buildings swapped out shadows. Mountains offered few solace in their distance. Grubby hands grew tired of covering tightly clenched eyes.

Keeping out of trouble– hiding from the city– his only companion was often the sky. It taunted the boy. Absences grew longer as the sky bid its time before shifting. Every change alerted of a possible complication: rain, heat, thunder, lighting, loss. Sometimes the earth, embracing him reassuringly, didn't offer enough solace. Jarring, blistering heat rained from the sky; cold water beamed from it. The mountains seemed far, then. The buildings too short. His hands too fatigued.

The sky made him cry, sometimes. Salty tears cleansed a path down his clammy face. It was so big, so changing, so present. When the sky changed too much, waltzed its waltz and a tall, thin boy failed to appear, the seated, toes-dipped-in-earth boy despaired. In those days, nights, dawns, sunsets, and midnights of waiting: only the sky watched over the boy. Only the sky sat with the boy, against the rough, dirty brick. Pressed against the soothing depth of soil. Only the eternal nothingness heard the rumbles in his belly and in his heart. Only the sky witnessed his loneliness.

But there were days the sky was almost a friend. The bright, sunny, airy days a shriveled yet tall boy arrived. The times the boy ate. The times his hand sat clasped in another's. The sky showed her or his friendliness by not being too cold or too warm, on those times. By refraining from dripping water and by clouding over the sun. Yet, the moments of friendliness ebbed as the sky changed again. As the warmer, taller, older boy departed. As the sky changed too much again and he remained seated against the scratchy wall, indented into earth, hand itching to grasp a warm one again. As the sky transformed wicked: rain pelting or sun blasting; cold flaring or heat blistering. Lips trembled again. He was alone; and he feared the sky.

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**In my head, Mako was unhealthily overprotective of Bolin to the point that he had to wait for his brother alone in a safe spot. Yeah, I'm crazy.**

**Thoughts?  
**


	3. Hard Work

**Chapter is entirely clean. It contains a tiny pinch of Lin, though. General/Adventure post-Book One.  
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**Hard Work**

The elder bender enjoyed sliding the door to the thin apartment as the sun just finished slipping beneath a blanket of horizon. He kicked off his shoes, exposing fetid, ripe feet. Feet smelling like "hard work". Bolin opened the windows. Mako scowled, peeling soggy socks from aching feet. Dramatically, the burly boy pinched his nostrils closed. Pabu, chittering, settled for a nap against the windowsill, nose pointedly _outside_. Mako scowled, hiding amusement. Unclipping his scorched overalls, he made for the bathroom. A refreshing bath would clean the sweat from his body and get him ready for bed. Bolin stretched, alone.

Yawning, he laid in his messy bed, flopping, the bed protesting in response. Rubbing his feet together, he realized they never smelled quite like Mako's. Even after he'd spent the entire day training, cleaning the apartment, or dabbling in metalbending behind everyone's backs: sweating in concentration as he struggled to find earth in something as cold and unyielding as metal.

The short-lived revolution was over. Life reverted back to probending and work, although the presence of several high-profile friends made living in the arena's attic difficult, even as it was restored. The brothers hastily yet hesitantly escaped Air Temple Island's vegetarian meals and dorm-style accommodations, citing independence. But the tousled earthbender yearned for something more. The sparse, thin walls and the breathtaking view of the arena no longer contented him quite as they used to. His earthbending no longer spurred a sense of immeasurable pride. Sighing, he settled deeper into his bed.

A thought flitted into his mind; verdant eyes flashing awake. Perhaps he could ask the Chief to teach him. The woman was both an earthbending and a metalbending master, taught by the best earthbender to be graced by the earth and surpassing her in turn. Bolin would surely regain he pride in bending if instructed by someone so decorated. Resolving to ask her tomorrow– Bolin stretched a final time before drifting into a silent sleepiness– waiting for the sandman to take him away.

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The papers went mad. Revolution-hero, star probender, and friend of the Avatar: Bolin, was traveling with the previous Chief of Police, Revolution-hero, and daughter of the legendary Toph Bei Fong. Entrusting Saikhan for the second time, the armored woman led an overly childish Bolin toward the flora of Gaoling with the intent of hammering and beating her mother's teachings– as well as her own– into the probender.

Initially, the prospect of teaching the silly boy anything annoyed the master to no end. But there he stood: eager, excited, wide and hopeful green eyes cracking her steel resolve. With a flick of her fingers, the metal door cut into the air close to his face, obscuring his view entirely and securing the metalbender to consider his question in peace.

Turning toward her desk, her face startled the woman as her reflection stared back. The cold walls of the room _too_ polished. Lin was not battered nor frail, but age clearly marred her features. Legacy became a pressing matter in that instance of realization. Competency of her force without her also entered her mind. She did not want a repetition of her force's manipulation under Tarrlok. A snap decision reached, she opened the door even as her back remained to her new student.

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**This prompt came out of a weird, weird place. My friend's sister's feet smell like "hard work" sometimes, too. This was supposed to be dark originally, too. But then I decided I needed some lightness in my writing. I will most likely elaborate on Bolin's adventures in Gaoling (Toph's hometown in AtLA) in this fic of snippets. I love the idea of my favorite nonmetalbending earthbender learning from my second favorite metalbending earthbender. I'm thinking of changing the title from "Malachite" to something else or just altering it in some way.  
**

**Comments? **


	4. Butterfly

**Butterfly**

A fragile, winged creature flitted from rose to rose; jade eyes looking on in wonder. It was so small, and he was so big. Dimples graced his elbows, baby fat clinging to the cherubic child. He loved gardens. Often, as his mother toiled in her own way, he pulled on her sleeve or fingers, asking for "garden". Her golden eyes would meet his emerald, and declare that he had better make his bed before he thinks of "garden" again. And so the boy would toddle quickly, a half-waddle, to his small bed. Carefully, he would straighten his pillow and right his bright, blue blanket. Small hands not adept, he'd leave the edges uneven and the blanket crinkled in at least one area. Sometimes Bolin would peek at the bed next to his– one made with the grace and mastery of a six year old veteran– and smooth out the blanket for a few extra minutes before waddling back.

"Did you make your bed, young man?", his mother would always inquire, attempting a seriousness that they both knew she didn't have. Bolin nodded earnestly, wide eyes _promising _that his bed was made. Satisfied, she scooped him into her arms for a few moments, hugging her youngest– her baby. Bolin squirmed slightly, hiding the fact that he felt the most safe during times like these. Pressing a wet kiss to her cheek, he impatiently waited for their departure to a garden. Setting him down, she wrapped a bright green cloth around her head– concealing her long, wavy black hair– and scooped him up once again, twisting the door open and locking it behind her. When sheathed in his mother's arms, Bolin took the time to look at her deep amber eyes, watching in awe as they caught the light and turned a lighter gold, almost glittering in the gentle sunlight.

Sights and sounds of a quiet Republic City greeted the pair. An open-air market, reasonably littered with shoppers, quietly bustled nearby. Tall buildings along with low ones intermixed, differentiating this area of the city from the others. Bolin's wide eyes took in his mother's sudden scowl at a shining, well-polished satomobile as it passed them, swerving wildly to avoid hitting a nearby building. Bolin turned his head to stare, but snapped his attention to the area they approached: a wood-fence enclosed green area in an otherwise nature-lacking area of the city. There were trees, grass, flowers, roses, ferns, and other things the boy didn't know the names of. A small pond also graced the farthest corner of the garden-like park, dotted in turtleducks. A grin darted through Bolin's face as he squirmed and squirmed, waiting for his green-clad mother to put him down. Plopping him unceremoniously onto a patch of grass next to the roses, she took a seat on a nearby bench, stretching and resting.

Bolin began by staring at the flowers in silent adoration before plucking out clumps of grass to get the earth beneath. Clumps of earth in his fists usually granted him the same comfort an embrace from either of his parents– which confused yet astounded him. A movement ahead distracted him from his excavation: a series of pale white butterflies flitted from rose to rose, daintily propping themselves on the soft petals. He dropped the clumps of earth and settled into a uncomfortable, leaning stance: all the better to watch the butterfies flutter with. Suddenly, he was comfortably perched, watching the butterflies even closer. A rough slab of earth jutted from the patch of grass, anchoring the cherubic boy, whose face currently lit up with delight and wonder.

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**This chapter deals with the first time Bolin earthbended/bent. Not as good as I could've made it, but it's not like anyone is reading this :D !**

**Thanks, Super Junior, for the prompt xD  
**


	5. Down by the Water (Borra)

**T for implications.  
**

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**Down by the Water**

Waves pushed at the sand, pushing and pushing. They crashed upon rocks, tempting boulders to snap. A gentle sun swayed in the bruised sky. Air whispered throughout the shore. Sweaty, glistening forms struggled against sand, willing the free-falling, shifty particles to yield. Carved muscles bared to sinking sun, a drop – salty with sweat or sea– danced from neck to chest to abdomen, clearly outlining the dips and curls of the burly earthbender's physique. Sky-tinged irises followed it, turning away as the drop melted into a low-slung sash. Pink tinged sunkissed cheeks. Well-endowed brows raised in askance; a smile brightened a sweaty face.


	6. For a Taste of Eternity Part 1 (Borra)

**Rated T for implications. This could've been an M with an expansion of what's going on, but I didn't want to go there. (A citrus-free M, anyway) A dark look into Borra, or at least that's what I was aiming for.  
**

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**For a Taste of Eternity (Part 1)**

First encounter's bask: a finely crafted girl stood before, arguing with Toza. Hiding from something, snooping. His double-take alerted him of her significance. Enjoying views of concealed curves and exposed muscles pulled taut; the earthbender approached. And covered. Spoke, so convincingly, that Toza departed, recognizing a familiar occurrence. Often, the burly earthbender invited any who held interest to the back training rooms of the bending arena. Girls followed: sometimes, to watch him practice; basking in the squeals of his fans and the sighs of swooning girls. Other times, for something else: his skin bright like a Zeus, yet powerful as the earth.

Implications flew, intentions discovered.

A coat of polite atop a polished veneer, a touch of charm. A dash of handsome and the blooms of innocent friendship. A potent recipe, prepared for growth. Aiming for more.

A dish powdered in too much salt: Mako entered. Fiery skin and cold eyes regarded the enticingly concocted avatar. Rolling his eyes, basking in jerk, his brother put the girl off.

"What does it take to impress this guy?", angrily the voice demanded. The perfect voice: ripe in depth and altitude. Perfect for plundering. Bolin attempted to explain his brother's rudeness, yet failed.

The Avatar joined the Fire Ferrets. Victory obtained, the player considered the plan. Crafted a new one.

Masterminded, genuine actions and words fell on deafened ears. A strong heart inexplicably broke, betrayal lingering from brother to potential lover.

Kings, bishops and queens lay in disarray, the board thrown and the pieces misplaced. The gleaming, shining, beaming, playing, hard, smooth, jade-windowed charmer's plan dashed. The cold rudeness of his kin overcame his earthly warmth. The avatar fell for the fire-manipulator.

Princesses and happily-ever-afters, slippers and villains, the union– a tale. A flowery concoction dipped in syrup, drenched in sugar and blanched in nectar. Saccharine. Sickening.

Yet, if so sweet– so sugared– why did she stand before him now, clad in the cloak of night: concealed? The moon's sharp stare stark against the lines of buildings and trees, the glow of lamplight littering across the land? Atop a grounded mat; aside an oaken door; before a groggy earthbender. Bolin rubbed gently at his eyes, clearing his vision slightly. Yes. There she stood, clad in clean training clothes, rumpled from sleep and a struggle.

A cleared mind. Bolin pulled the avatar into his quiet domain, clicking the door closed behind her. "What's wrong?". Tears fell from her eyes, contained too long. She reached for him, clouding him in a tight embrace. That which he felt with a flicker of passion and she with a brotherly comfort. Gently, strong arms pushed her away. "What happened?", he continued to ask. Sick, ill. Tired. She was a product of confections and settled primly into a set aside his brother. He was simply a discarded item from a shelf: observed momentarily before a toss. The fall chipped softly at his edges, contrasted aside her gleaming glaze of honey.

Finally, words spilled from her lips: "–Mako– he–". Concern ruffled the chiseled youth. Images of enemies attacking his brother, images of illness, images of anything at all that would harm him–

"It's not that," hints of dissatisfaction, a wink of ripened fruits and glistening pomegranates. Bolin took a step back. Her voice, dripping honey, spilling sugar and syrup and nectar, oozing like slime. It fell husky: "Bolin,".

So the avatar thought she knew what she wanted. Undesired, somehow Bolin fell into her being. Somehow she sought him, during Yue's time: "You've heard from my fans,". Whispers of coldness entered the usually warm bender's voice, momentarily freezing Korra. Yet his shadowed expression melted sad, and he settled against the wall. Sun kissed hands took his face, and he considered running.

But the door to the streets sealed shut; the hand of the avatar's entwined in his.

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**There's probs only one or two more parts to this. I originally wanted to make this a lot longer with more to it, but that's not what the muses had in mind. Maybe some other time, idk. **


	7. Crumble

**La is the name of the Ocean spirit.  
**

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**Crumble**

Sand burned against his toughened soles, rolled up green pants stopping below the knee and his gray shirt billowing in the salty breeze. It was a lazy day, a nice time to sit alone in the sand, hidden amongst the crowds. Bolin didn't bring a towel or a blanket or any accessory other than the clothes on his back and a few yuans for snacks. The sun was cast strongly over the sky and it shined on Yue Bay, glinting and glinting, making the fashionable use of a contraption known as sunglasses popular. Scantily-clad youth and modestly draped elders milled around the beach, covering the earthbender's loneliness.

Bolin kneeled along the shoreline, surrounded by packed, soaked sand– a few shades darker than its cousin formed in softer dunes. Carefully, he patted and pinched the exfoliating powder into a simple castle, the days of forming miniature or gigantic fireferrets gone. For now, females in the appropriate age range (for some reason) did not flock to his side, so he avoided female names and flowers and hearts. Dipping his nails against the mold-able material, he drafted a moat as his thoughts wandered to another time.

Father loved the beach, the bay, and the sea. He'd be set as a waterbender, mama would joke. Or so Mako told him. He really only remembered visiting the bay whenever he was out with his father, and the soft smile nature only granted him– not fatherly or romantic love and affection. La received a different, soft, pleasant smile. Something as natural as the comfort of earth on bare feet on a soft spring day.

The earthbender looked toward the sky, carefully keeping his eyes away from the burn of the sun, as he wondered if the Ocean missed his father's gentle smile as he did. If the Ocean knew of his death and if it mourned every time a sand castle crumbled or footsteps faded from the sand, wiped clean by waves. Maybe La cried against the cliffs on the other edge of the beach when he and his brother muffled their cries together, standing before a piece of stone so cold and so lifeless a chiseler went at it instead of a bender.

But most of all, Bolin hoped the Ocean liked the smile he had for it– the soft, slightly sad turn of the lips that crossed his face as he glanced at the sometimes choppy, sometimes tranquil waters. As he looked at the same seas his father did, years before. Bolin hoped the Ocean remembered his father, perhaps– maybe even more than he did– even when the sand dried and crumbled and his designs to the sea and the past fell apart.

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**I am a tearbending master. I thought it would make sense for Papa Fab to like the Ocean. Because it's beautiful and wondrous and amazing. Or I'm crazy. I know the moat makes most people imagine an old school European castle (you know the one) but it could totally be a Japanese style castle (like Tsuruga-jyo). ****Reviews make me sing off-tune while dancing. It's quite a sight.  
**


	8. For a Taste of Eternity Part 2 (Borra)

**This strongly, strongly, strongly implies relations between Bolin and Korra. It also speaks of infidelity. Rated a sturdy T. This really is a dark Borra. This is a sad chapter. Also, this part 2 differs stylistically from the first part. I think it's easier to read.**

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**For a Taste of Eternity (Part 2)  
**

Sweat clung to him, marking him salty. The heated embrace of the sheets only augmented the flush of his face as he sat up, clouded in sin. Aside him, Korra snored contentedly, sated. Bolin shivered. Rising from his cluttered, crowded bed, he made his way to the wide window, throwing it open to the cool dawn's dew. His stomach bellowed, complaining of its emptiness.

Bare feet padded across the room, stopping only for their owner to cover himself in a fresh pair of shorts, gray like the wink before sunrise. He moved beyond the lazy door to his combination kitchen-living-room-dining-area. The icebox contained a few stiff buns stuffed with noodles, so he set a bamboo steamer atop a pot of clear water. As the water boiled, he rinsed his face in the kitchen sink, the trepidation associated with guilt settling into him in waves. Icy drops fell from his hair, clinging to the curls and running down his face. Swallowing thickly, he wondered how long it would take him to run to Ba Sing Se.

Suddenly, rapid knocks vibrated off his front door. It was barely morning, the clear wash of sunrise yet to settle– a strange time to have a visitor– twice in a 24 hour period. Briefly, Bolin apologized to the Spirits for whatever caused his quiet, healing life to burst into flames at the Avatar's tempting touch. Steeling himself, he approached his door and opened it slowly.

Flesh and blood stood before him, and his chest began to ache. Surely his guilt manifested on his face in a terrible frown, a sadness in his eyes and the tell-tale wrinkles of culpability. Mako's distraught, sleepless face stared at him, words erupting from his dry lips as his face twisted further into worry: "Bo, I can't find Korra– she's not home or at the island or the arena or Narook's or City Hall or Asami's–"

Bolin didn't know what to say. But his face twisted into a pained grimace and somehow a whisper of suspicion reached his dear brother, making him enter the home enough and pause. Pause; listen. And hear the the snores of the Avatar trickle from the other room. Bolin slowly started to cry.

"She's only staying because she's mad, right Bo? She's just sleeping. She came over to sleep here, right Bo?" The water, slowly brought to a boil, suddenly exploded in a flurry of bubbles and heat. Steam rose dramatically toward the air as the pot's reserve was exhausted and the metal became dry. The strange round sound of hot water granted the situation an eery hilariousness, as Mako laughed.

But it was empty, angry, and lost all at once. It wasn't the laugh of old: the lighthearted stress-releasing gurgle chimed at cute antics, saved only for him. It wasn't a side-splitting chortle at an unsavory joke in off-character moments of amusement after a long day training and toiling. It was in this humor that his older brother left.

The firebender walked away from the earthbender many times before: when he left for numbers with the triads leaving the other boy silent and hidden from the world; when he crisply stalked off to work at an honest factory or power plant; and when he left for dates and appointments. An emptiness settled in as an uncertainty never before touched on pressed heavily against Bolin: would his brother turn toward him again?

Eternity tasted sweet, but the price for immortality– high– so above the world the view below lay fogged in obscurity.

A hissing came from the pot as it finished drying. Tendrils of sunlight fell through the door as Bolin fell into the floor, the unmistakable embrace of loneliness chilling him to the soul.

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**Oh my poor baby boy. ;A; My feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelsssss.  
**

**I'm thinking there's at least one more part to this. Most likely two more parts. Reviews make me momentarily stop tearbending at this situation.  
**


	9. Undone (onesided Borra)

**Contains spoilers for Book 2: Spirit (even in the AN below, so beware!), rated T for an implication. Angsty.  
**

**This is the result of some Bolin feels I've been steadily gnawing at for inspiration toward other things instead of doing something about them. Finally, this popped out after I looked up what the English translation of one of Rammstein's songs. In the middle of it I heard "Undone" by Blutengel, which is why this could have two titles. Stirb nicht vor mir really only works vaguely as a title, so Undone fits it more. This fic is a general response toward Bryke's mistreatment of Bolin's character as Book 2: Spirit looms over the fandom. I am to this day upset that Mako got to be a cop and Bolin was left to continue probending with a team that he's struggling with. Come on, Bryke. Give my baby boy a fucking break.**

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**Undone, or: STIRB NICHT VOR MIR**

Spring danced outdoors, prancing along in blossoms and bustling greenery. Sprawled across blooming grass, Bolin lay. The sun's lukewarm caress pinched at his skin as the frigid air fought with it over dominance of his bodily temperature. He was bored.

Once out of bed, he cooked and breakfasted. Pabu chowed down next to him on the table. Afterwards– knowing he had no plans– he tidied the small apartment, taking care and even rearranging his collection of same-colored pants.

He dusted, too.

Briefly, as the shelf holding Pro Bending paraphernalia gleamed back at him, he wondered if he became Mako overnight.

_Bolin doesn't dust or clean more than necessary_. He doesn't sit at home gloomy with thoughts, either.

A sigh escaped the robust earthbender. The only thing reassuring him was Pabu's thoughtful comment, something _he, Bolin, himself_ only understood.

So he left the apartment and wandered around town, his trusty Pabu at his shoulder. The arena was off-limits. Toza said something about not being able to go there– not even the training rooms– last time he saw him.

Last night, after another body-destroying bout of earth-disk murder. Another round of forgetting and noodles. His Narook's habit would only puff him out like the fireferret's fur after a towel-drying if he didn't pound himself into shape at every opportunity.

So Bolin went for a run, letting Pabu loose to wander and find a lady-friend. Lady-friends were nice to have, and he smugly smiled to himself– momentarily– confident that Pabu would find someone to make him happy. That his friend would succeed where he failed.

Thoughts turning toward the ravaging clouds of storm, Bolin headed toward nowhere. He ran and ran, air clashing against his body and oxygen asking to enter his lungs and his lungs screeching back that they needed it.

He finally paused to rest, stopping at a pretty park complete with a budding orchard. Memories filtered through his mind: his mother leading him toward a tomato garden, pointing out the white butterflies; his father launching him into the earth, cocooned with him as they made their own caves around a mountain. Of Mako–

Mako currently toiled away for the benefit of the City, burning through the corruption. The choice of his brother's to seek a fulfilling job didn't surprise him. The shock came from the fact that he joined Chief Beifong's officers, despite being unable to earthbend or move cables at his will. A tremble slipped at the earthbender's lips.

And he, Bolin, worked with two newcomers to Probending. Two teammates who didn't cooperate and who didn't even seek his friendship. Thus their teamwork was off. In the end, the Fireferrets' chances at the upcoming match at winning held less weight than the husk of an onion.

What was left for him, really? Probending stars only ended with mending bodies and broken bones, the only option after a premature retirement being training. Bolin, a star? Utter and complete nonsense. His perch at stardom lay on the same level as a penguin's ability to fly, if the team he captained for was any indication.

Which would be fine, if he felt content. Contentedness was difficult to come by. The companionship with Pabu and the independent life was one thing, but... there was a loss where a brother-figure once stood.

There was a crack and broken shards where the beginnings of something once lingered, setting his mind to soaring.

Removing his shoes, Bolin wriggled his toes at the moist grass beneath them. Girls around the park discreetly and not-so-discreetly ogled at his bare chest. So he'd forgotten a shirt in his haste to escape.

They were lovely, really. Beautiful things– pretty creatures he amused his words and entertained with his body. But there's no depth to it: no layers of life and worlds like the echoes of the sea. There aren't eyes the exact shade of bl–

The people in the park, _plural_, were too many to lay witness to his tears and hastily muffled anguish. He'd take it to the apartment before it started.

Pabu rested on the gnarled mat before the door, lounging fashionably. At Bolin's erratic gasps for air the fireferret leapt to life and clambered atop his shoulders, nuzzling his face.

Bolin entered his domain and lay, undone.

Because come the next match his failing team would fall in shambles. Because his brother not only left him, but left him to join something _so earthbender_ it hurt and the avatar continued to barely acknowledge her effect on him. And the combination of the two, the three factors–

But there was a lovely lady named Hope whose tresses softened his cries and gentle hands brushed his back. Her presence came with the promise of a better future and an unknown hand clasped firmly in his.

Rubbing at his left eye, bleakly he wondered when he would find her. Pabu curled tighter atop his back in response.

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**Oh, the feels: how they afflict me so! I'm probs going to recycle Stirb nicht vor mir since I didn't really get to the idea I had in mind for that in a later chapter.  
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**Reviews make me vomit rainbows~**


	10. Paper

**This snippet was/is directly inspired by "Wings of a Crane", something I almost posted in here. Feels alert, other than that there's no objectionable content.  
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**Paper**

Stepping carefully around the floor- which currently sported a smattering of papers strewn all around- strong hands picked up a lightly snoring young earthbender (whose fingers still crushed a paper catfrog and a paper war-helmet*). The windows betrayed the time as evening and the clatter of well-worn dishes reinforced the afterglow of a meal. As the man moved his son toward a pile of pillows in the corner, his other son blearily regarded the mess. Little lion-turtles, cranes, catfrogs, throwing stars, horsecows, elkbears and every other animal and noun whose frame and contours could be imitated in paper littered the floor. Bolin loved origami. He could barely fold even the simplest animal face, yet he managed to amass an impressive collection at the hands of others. His honey-eyed sibling sighed once, resigning himself to tossing a combination of crisp and worn paper toys into a simple earthen receptacle.

* * *

"Mako, please?", his brother looked at him with impossible wide eyes, tears brimming at their edges. His brother wanted to bring the slightly heavy stone box with them.

It wasn't practical. Still, the brothers stood in the midst of cold bodies and unholy smoke, amid a tattered home. They'd yet to depart, quickly grabbing necessary items: two blankets, a cup each, a red scarf, a jade hairpin, lots of extra clothes on their persons and odd-smelling, clumped together rice. The necessities after and during an emergency, as schooled into him at the peaceful, cute place two streets over with brown and orange uniforms- where a kindly teacher showed him to draw his name on a thin, fragile sheet.**

He carefully shook his head. Bolin did not take it well: his face fell into an abyss. Mako frowned as his brother cried quietly to himself. He placed a hand in the little container, rifling through its contents before grasping one more necessary object: a pale purple paper crane. Mako gingerly pressed it into his brother's chubbier hand.

Bolin's mouth emitted a hiccup-sound, as his dirty fingers paled white in their grip.

* * *

It rained. Water sloshed against the paved nature of the street, forming miniature rivers. Green eyes observed them, even as they carried nothing downstream, toward lower land. The city was chilly. The surrounding leafed trees flirted from green to orange, yellow, and a shockingly vibrant red. The needle-minded trees simply remained the same, hinting of a certain eternity. A little boy leaned against the earth beneath him and the rough wall behind him, trying to find warmth in air: something foreign and confusing. His feet and back, though cold, remained comfortable. His small, chubby fingers shivered with numb, the cold penetrating the feeble cover of a worn brown blanket. Bolin's fingers- nearly frozen- clutched to a pale purple folded piece of paper.

The winds changed, the angle of the clouds changed. The course of drifting, falling water altered. Drops fell on his legs and arms, a few stray ones reaching his nose.

A pale-purple motherly contact in his hands faltered. It soaked. It fell into pasty blobs of sadness. Thus, salty tears joined the cleansing wash of the rain toward the gutters.

* * *

**It's so sad how anyone reading this can tell how I sort of warmed up for the first two-thirds of this before my muses decided to be nice to me. **

***"war-helmet" refers to kabuto origami. Google it, yes?**

**** shodou, Japanese calligraphy, is done on thin rice paper with a cherrywood ink, if I remember correctly. I know for sure that middle schoolers practice it in Japan (they have mad skills), but I'm stretching the truth and pretending young firebending children practiced it starting at a young age with their name. Since their mama is Fire Nation (in my head) and Zuko is the same (in canon), I'm pretending shodou is part of the school program in Republic City. Or whatever school Mako went to. I should put down my crack pipe, I know. Also, I pick Japanese traditions more than Chinese ones for FN stuff because I dunno much about Chinese culture TBH. **


	11. Noodles

**My muses decided to be awesome today, so here's this. I wanted to add a lot more to it and make it an extended story about how Narook's Noodlery grew to become Bolin's favorite restaurant, but I decided I was going to take the lazy road and just write whatever parts I felt like writing and uploading them on here. This snippet is supposed to illustrate the conditions the boys (especially Bo) are experiencing on the streets and the kindness of some people. There are further notes at the end for the bits in here that are strange or would need extra explanation. I started off strong on this one before my will to write sort of faltered. I think it's too obvious, but if anyone ever reads this I'd like to know if it's evident to others.  
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**Noodles (**Mako is 11 and Bolin is 9**)**

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The sky lay overcast; dark clouds themselves plundering the city below. Water gushed and flowed against itself and the smooth paved stone streets. Shivering against the wall behind him and the earth above him, a small boy sniffled, a moistness in his nose. The rain's weight dripped and soaked through the small dirt awning and the ground beneath him flooded slightly, as the flow of water struggled to sink into waterlogged earth.

A series of spasmodic sneezes shook his frame, and he wiped his face with a damp, threadbare sleeve. His lip trembled, as he was uncomfortable, cold, and scared. His companion, a taller brother, didn't lurk around the corner or even next to him in the improvised structure. The boy's legs grew tired, and briefly he considered sitting on the pond beneath him. Bolin settled into a squatting position, preparing for more frigidity to haze him when a old man hobbled by, lugging a massive trash bag.

His skin was deep like the warm tones of the bitter drink Mako sometimes brought over when snow settled into the mountains aside the city. His snow-white hair dripped down his shoulders yet the cold didn't seem to faze him in the slightest, possibly due to the deep blue parka he wore. Briefly, Bolin's eyes burned greener at the sight of such a warm article of clothing.

The old man successfully disposed of his mountain of garbage and started to limp back toward his origin. Out of the corner of his nearly transparent blue eyes, he captured the reality of a boy nearly settling into a puddle of water inside a rudimentary dirt structure meant to keep him somewhat dry, but which failed miserably at its task. The boy's dark hair, shaggy and longer than currently fashionable, curled and sunk in patches to his head from the damp. His nose burned a vibrant red and his cheeks followed with a strong pinkness. The rest of his face waxed pale white from the cold and the flesh behind it was probably numb. Baggy, tattered, worn clothing covered and overcame his stature.

Something akin to pity settled in the old man's heart, for he lived a comfortable yet humble life: peddling water tribe cuisine from both poles to a variety of customers. His sons were grown and his wife still lived. He had a limp, but he could reasonably still take care of his business.

As an elder considered at least somewhat wise by the naïve customers who asked for advice, of course he realized and recognized the fact that the world contained a certain number of unfortunates. Homeless people often settled into the triads. To see a young one is surely a sobering sight. Narook approached the young unfortunate, someone clearly lacking street smarts and a ruthlessness in his eyes evidenced by other children around the center of the city. The feverish boy lacked even a can or an upturned hat, and he sat in a back alley as devoid of passerby as possible.

Narook stopped before the boy, stooped slightly over in age, "Are you hungry?". Bolin shook his head, fear in his eyes. Mako always warned him against going with anyone for anything or receiving anything from anyone. It was dangerous, he said.

But the old man looked like a memory: an old man lying in a bed in his living room, smiling and grinning at Bolin and his brother. He was a skinny man, and the name "Chun" fell into his consciousness as another image of a wrinkled woman flashed before his eyes. The flash became potent: a scene of toasted rice inside the tea and the howling of the wind through wooden windows. A cracker for his brother and perfectly stuffed dumplings for a meal.

Bolin didn't know why, but he wanted to cry. So he spoke into the silence the old man let wallow, and told him he was hungry. Narook nodded, and motioned for the boy to follow.

The back door to Narook's Noodlery was simple: a thick wooden door on a hinge with a latch that was lockable from the inside with a heavy bar of wood. Bolin stepped carefully into the house, not wanting to wet the wooden floor. An old woman with crow's feet approached and then wandered away, returning with a towel. She had puffy black hair and gentle green eyes. She wrapped the towel around his back, tying it at his neck. She used the wide sleeve of her dress to dry his hair. She then took his hand and led him up some wooden stairs.

The room was sparse in furniture, yet the shelves on one side were teeming with what looked like dry ingredients and extra bowls and other utensils. It smelt of salt and the only sources of light were small lamps placed in strategic areas to light the entire room. "Meiling, get Onartok", the old man said as he moved a chair toward the table. His wife descended the stairs. A young man came up with a heavy earthen bowl, laden with a deep brown broth and green noodles. Sliced dried seaprunes garnished the dish and the distinct curves of wakame* curled over and around the noodles. The old man nodded to his son and left.

Onartok sported a braid on one side of his mid-back reaching hair and his eyes were green. He placed the bowl in front of Bolin and sat across him. Bolin lowered his lips to the rim of the bowl and slurped the broth. It was salty and a peculiar grainy-looking cloud moved in the bowl with every slurp. It tasted strongly of fish and the texture of the floating wakame confused him at first. Onartok handed him a pair of chopsticks and Bolin ate. He slurped with more enthusiasm and shoved noodles into his mouth, a hunger he'd been sustaining finally reaching a breaking point alongside the solution.

It was the best bowl of noodles he'd ever had the fortune of tasting and even the strangeness of the seaprune garnish didn't faze him. Finally, Bolin reached what he estimated was the middle of the bowl.

Onartok had risen and currently moved things around on the shelf.

"Excuse me... sir. Can I– is it okay if I can take the rest home?" he asked, though his stomach ached to finish the rest and his body was finally warming from the heat of the broth. But if he returned to the waiting place full and happy and his brother returned empty handed and hungry...

Narook's son thought to himself for a minute before reaching into the shelf and procuring a lightweight clay bowl.

"If you bring this," he waved the bowl at Bolin, "back, then you can take it home. But you **have** to bring it back." Bolin nodded solemnly, so Onartok poured the remainder of the noodles into the lighter container. He covered it with a matching lid meant to keep the contents hot, though by this point the noodles neared tepidity.

Onartok accompanied him down the stairs and untied the towel from his neck. He opened the door for Bolin and said goodbye, and that he would see him later. Bolin walked away after several honest thank-yous.

The ceramic container rattled with every step he took, yet it reached the meeting place intact. Mako was already there, looking angry at Bolin's absence.

"Where were you?"

"I got noodles," Bolin smiled, somewhat proud of himself for providing for his brother. He moved the container in front of his brother's crossed arms.

"Where?" Mako was furious. A singular and important rule he always repeated before leaving in the morning was as follows: "don't go anywhere or talk to anyone and be safe". Bolin went somewhere. He presumably talked to someone. Those two actions were not safe. The younger brother was no longer so sure of himself for bringing back some of the noodles.

"The noodlery down that way," Bolin said. He held the noodles tighter in his hands.

By now the rain ceased. The clouds remained, but they only really affected the light emanating from some of the stars twinkling far away. Light only fell into the alley from the windows of the buildings nearby, some of which were dark. Mako lit one of his palms with an inner fire, bringing an orange light to his and his brother's faces.

"It's dangerous! Food from strangers is dangerous! Did you eat any of it?"

"...the other half. But Mako, it's so good–"

A slosh and a crash and the scent of cooled salty noodles. They lay spilled over the ground. Dark green ribbons of seaweed punctuated the entire mess. The fire in Mako's palms extinguished with the action of tossing the contents of the bowl.

Bolin sniffled and started to cry as a particular type of guilt settled into his older brother. Mako stepped forward and retrieved the chipped lid.

"Let's return it, Bo" Mako decided.

"No. You broke it! I can't give it back broken!" Bolin yelled, crying harder. He felt terrible: that he didn't finish the delicious meal and that it lay on the side of an alley.

Mako stepped toward the noodlery, already knowing which back door it was. Some mornings– or whenever he passed by, really– the strong scent of fish broth and seaweed hit his nose.

He started to knock on the door before Bolin arrived, still crying. No one came to the door, so he knocked harder. Finally, an old woman holding a mop answered, a bewildered look to her face.

So Mako began: "My brother borrowed this but I broke it I'm sorry he told me I was supposed to– "

"It's okay." The old woman smiled at the pair and took the chipped cover and bowl back. Mako tugged at the still-crying Bolin and started to walk away after a hasty "thank-you".

Bolin turned toward Meiling, frowning and blubbering. She winked at him, a crease of her wrinkled eyes. He opened his mouth and forgot to cry in shock before she closed the door to presumably mop and Bolin turned back toward his brother.

* * *

***wakame: seaweed in Japanese! I like it in miso and in udon. My friends think it's gross, but I dig it. **

**Old People Mentioned/"Chun": a reference/expansion on a visit to the Fab Bending Bros grandparents in "Family, Malady, and the Aftermath", Chapter 3: "Rise". The grandma is Chunhei and the Grandpa is Jae. The names are Korean.  
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**Narook and his Family and how that fits into Canon: I don't remember it being explicitly stated in LoK that Narook was the *current* owner of the Noodlery. I like the idea of Narook as an old man when Bolin first eats there who eventually passes away and one of his sons (Onartok) takes over after his death. (Onartok likes probending, which is why we see posters of Tahno in series.) Onartok is supposedly Inuit for "is warm" according to some website I found. I liked other name meanings better but Onartok sounds more Watertribe. Meiling is Narook's Earth Kingdom wife. (Narook is obviously Watertribe). The name is Chinese. I don't know what it means, I chose it because I like it and I knew of someone with that name. I was going to name the other son something Chinese, but I didn't get around to including him in here. I will write more about Onartok and Narook and Bolin and his love of Watertribe Noodles, and all of those will go in here.  
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**I spent too much time thinking about this story and the characters and if they were OOC than actually writing it, so if you believe that Mako was OOC or that Bolin was OOC, please tell me. I implore you.  
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**Reviews make me break into dance erratically.  
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